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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25546888">head up straight i know what i’m doing (i don’t)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucystonersix/pseuds/lucystonersix'>lucystonersix</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Black Sails</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, lots of talking and having feelings, madi is mentioned because i love her the most</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:27:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,885</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25546888</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucystonersix/pseuds/lucystonersix</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Silver psychoanalyzes Flint from a severe state of denial (or: a rewrite of that 3x10 scene). Some flashbacks/-forwards set from around 3x03 to 4x04.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>head up straight i know what i’m doing (i don’t)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">☾</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was a warm night. The forest air hung heavy around Flint, close and stifling. He drove his spade into the soft earth, laying one last shovelful of dirt over the burial site of the Urca gems. An unimaginable sum of stolen Spanish treasure, the remains of which were now hidden in a location known only to Flint and two other men.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One of those men sat close by him now, attentive as Flint laid down the shovel. “It’s done, then?” Silver asked, and Flint, wiping his brow, nodded. “Sorry I couldn’t have been much help,” he added, somewhat bitterly, and tapped the boot strapped to his left knee.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Flint waved a hand at Silver in protest, and took a seat on a fallen tree trunk. He began to work his fingers over the palms of each hand, kneading the already-sore muscles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can I ask you something?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The glow of their lantern cast long shadows on Silver’s face. Tricky to read in this light, thought Flint. “Go ahead,” he said, warily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When we were becalmed, do you remember what I told you? When we rowed out in that wretched longboat together?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Flint remembered well. “Yes. What of it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tell me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You mean, confessing you stole the Urca from me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Silver’s eyes gleamed. “After that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, you said you were my equal in strength and intelligence,” Flint said, slowly. “But that we would be better off as partners than as rivals. You said that eventually, I would have to account for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, so you do remember.” Silver laughed softly to himself. “I must confess I’ve lost half of what I said or did in that time. A few weeks on limited water will do that to a man. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had forgotten.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(There was more that Flint had not forgotten. Silver, however, appeared ignorant — or unforthcoming — on that subject, so he held his tongue.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Silver went on, picking up the bottle Rackham had left them and turning it in his hands, gingerly. “Can I tell you why that was on my mind, that day? It was something Billy said. He was <em>imploring</em> me to get you under control, and as a means to do so, to make myself an equal in your eyes. He brought up Gates—” and Silver looked sidelong at Flint. “He implied that if Gates could make you value him in this way, I could as well, and not only that, but it was my duty to, for the sake of the men. I’ve really never told you this?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was spinning a web: Flint was familiar with Silver’s vocal tells, and this attempt to draw out his tale was one of them. “You know you haven’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Funny. Well, Billy thought that if I could make myself as dear to you as, say, Mr. Gates, I could control you. What do you think?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think Billy is an idiot.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Silver laughed again, light and practiced. “Oh yes, I agree wholeheartedly. He’s completely wrong, for one thing. The very foundations of his idea are based on a logical fallacy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How’s that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know as well as I that Gates could never tell you what to do. Billy is a fool if he ever thought so. More kindly, though, one could say he was grasping at straws: at the end there, for Gates, I think Billy must have known how powerless he was against Gates’ unfailing loyalty to you. Gates did the opposite of keeping you in line, you see — he covered for you, managed your messes, but he could never manage you. But Billy, he needs to believe that Gates was, in some measure, in control, that his friendship with you offered him some manner of influence, or he loses all hope for the future of our crew.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">“Now, I’m curious — do you think I’ve made myself dear to you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Huh. This could only be some sort of ploy on Silver’s part, posing this question so directly, and so apparently unprompted. Dear to him? Yes, a part of him did care for Silver a great deal, not that he would have known how to discuss that openly with him of all people.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why are you asking me all this now,” he said, by way of response. “And why does it feel like it’s supposed to be a threat?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t want you to consider it a threat,” Silver said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Think of it as cautionary advice. If war with England truly does loom on our horizons, a great deal is about to change, and very quickly, for the two of us. I thought it important that you know: that <em>I know</em> the extent to which your loyalty reaches. I know it is suspect, and perhaps more importantly, I know it is irrelevant. And I plan on acting accordingly.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Flint furrowed his brow, but he let Silver continue.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Gates believed himself a trusted confidant; he thought you and he shared something beyond laws or gold or even the men. And yet, I was there when you murdered him in cold blood. As your quartermaster, others may believe I am afforded some pretense of partnership in your eyes, and the protections that would follow, but you and I both know that that is not the case. If Gates could not earn such allegiance in ten years of friendship, I could not hope to have achieved it in one, notwithstanding the fact that our connection has been <em>tenuous</em> at best.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s be honest — Gates was naive. I would venture as far as to say that this naiveté rendered him a danger to both himself and the crew. They may not have understood this. But what you know, and I know, is that I would not make his same mistakes. Do you want to know why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Silver, who had been twirling the bottle in his hands, slowly let its motion come to a halt, as though pausing for dramatic effect.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because I know enough to keep some distance between us, and because, while I suspect you do view me as a force to be reckoned with, I do not believe for a second that my closeness to you as quartermaster, my friendship with you, or any history we may have shared would grant me any mercy if you decide I am in your way. You would kill me without hesitation, and I’m wise enough not to pretend you wouldn’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is that how you see me,” said Flint, softly. He had to admit, it was a bitter blow.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For even as Silver replied with, “I’m afraid so,” Flint remembered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">☾</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>He felt wood creaking beneath his heels. Those floorboards… the captain’s quarters? He swayed, and blinked, hard, trying to clear his head. His vision was swimming.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Decades at sea, as both a sailor and a pirate, had taught Flint more than enough of the effects of deprivation. He had taken his first bites of raw, tender shark meat, and had tasted nothing. He had listened to De Groot instructing the men to begin slowly, despite however eager they might be to fill their withered stomachs. Flint himself no longer felt hunger, the gut-wrenching pain of their early motionless days having faded to a dull ache, but he had forced down a small portion nonetheless, dribbling blood down his throat in an attempt to wash it down.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Somehow, he must have made it to his cabin, he thought, as he registered the sound of knuckles rapping against the door.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Captain.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>It was Silver. His hoarse voice made Flint’s own throat itch. Fucking Silver — whatever he was trying to throw at Flint now, Flint had no time for it, and no energy for a fight. He offered a weak reply, or at least he thought he did. A ringing in his ears deadened all other sounds.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Flint was surprised to find a strong arm around his waist. He had not heard Silver actually enter. He was even more surprised to feel his cot firm under his shoulder blades, a pillow beneath his head. Had Silver helped him to it? Eased him onto his back? With only one good leg, it could not have been effortless.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>He made to thank him. His throat was on fire. His parched lips stung every time they brushed against each other.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Silver’s hair was long. How had Flint failed to notice how long it had grown? He noticed it now, splayed out across his chest in loose, dark curls, Silver’s forehead tucked against Flint’s side. Interesting. Again, he had not registered Silver climbing into bed beside him, but somehow he was unsurprised to find him there.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>The </em>Walrus<em> rocked, now, the long-prayed-for breeze light but steady in its sails. For weeks, though, they had lived and breathed nothing but dead wind. Flint pulled Silver’s body to his. He felt too many ribs beneath tight-stretched skin as his hand rubbed gently up and down Silver’s side. Silver had eaten his share of their kill as well; Flint had watched him from across the deck, his eyes fixed right back on Flint’s as he choked down the bloody flesh. </em>Whatever happens out here, one thing is certain: you will account for me.<em> Flint had been too exhausted for rancor, hostility, for whatever challenge his quartermaster had been goading him towards. He had fixated instead, for some reason, on the satisfaction of — for the first time in weeks — seeing Silver nourished.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>And Silver — Silver, cradled in the crook of Flint’s arm, was whispering something into his threadbare shirt. Silver’s hands were clenching and unclenching in the fabric, one resting on Flint’s stomach, the other grasping his back. His words came ceaselessly, little more than a hum. Indistinct ramblings, Flint presumed, until his head cleared enough for him to pick out phrases. “We’re not dying here,” Silver said. And— “She is an unending, unforgiving, vast expanse of Hell.” And— “This isn’t going to be it, it just fucking isn’t.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Flint hushed him, bleary eyed. Silver had insisted they were equals, well-matched as partners. Where was that boldness now? Where was his rage like ice? What was this… desperation? For all his posturing about his wits and his strength, Silver seemed frail now, as if, with the most pressing danger past them, all he had been holding together tenuously for weeks had finally caught up with him. Flint always forgot how ill at ease Silver was amid their ruthless ocean.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>His hand found the top of Silver’s head, and he began stroking his hair, finishing with a gentle touch that cupped Silver’s wan cheek. He felt an answering shiver against his palm. Flint blinked, and all at once Silver’s face hovered inches from his own. His eyes were red and wild.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>When Silver kissed him, Flint had the very unromantic thought of how cracked his lips were, the unpleasant dryness as they brushed his own. Flint drank him in like water, though, fresh water, as Silver frantically pulled their faces together.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Hey,” Flint said, forcing a thin smile, when they parted. “What’s all this, now?” But Silver trembled against him, and he wanted, he—</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Please,” Silver whispered, kissing his mouth, his beard, his cheek. “Please,” he breathed, clutching Flint to himself with an urgency like a sickness. “Please.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>And Flint felt that urgency flow into and through him, a conduit, burning through the utter desolation that had consumed him since Miranda’s death. And this man’s body was warm against his own, something that Flint had not had in a very, very long time. And when he kissed Silver, open-mouthed and unreserved, Silver responded with such fervor that, Flint thought, he truly must have believed them dead men.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Exhaustion, however, had caught up with them. Silver soon quieted, his head settling heavy on Flint’s shoulder. Anchored to Flint’s side as tightly as limbs would allow. Flint felt his breathing steady under his fingertips, as he painted palliative strokes down Silver’s back. </em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Get some rest,” Flint whispered against the top of his head, dark curls tickling his mouth. “You did alright today,” he heard himself say. He was fading fast, and Silver was long gone, the sleep of the dead. His hands were twisted in Flint’s shirt, even now, clinging desperately to him, even in sleep.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">☾</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The air that surrounded the two men felt full, of energy, or something like lightning. Flint could feel the charge as he reached for the corked bottle hanging from Silver’s limp hands. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry you’ve convinced yourself that I would turn on you over nothing,” he said, gently. “And I am sorry about what happened to Gates, what I did to him, but I did it for reasons that I could not begin to explain to you.” (Reasons that Silver had never wanted to know.) He went on— “But when someone has my trust, they have it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As Flint took a sip of the liquor — rum, so it burned on the way down, a comfortable, familiar burn —Silver looked at him, carefully. “Such as? Forgive me, but the only person I believe would have even come close was Mrs. Barlow, and, well, she’s no longer with us.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Flint’s nerves steeled. Miranda had had his trust until the bitter end. “What the fuck does she have to do with this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Easy,” Silver said, even-tempered and guileless. “But really? How could she not have anything to do with this? As far as <em>I</em> know,” — and he gave Flint a pointed look — “she’s the only person who ever truly knew you. And you certainly listened to her. Hell, the woman got you to abandon an assault on Nassau’s fort in favor of trying to make peace with the fucking Crown.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The danger for her, perhaps, was that she was too close to you. Too wrapped up in your perilous lifestyle, certainly, and too wrapped up in your <em>past</em>. You knew each other for a long time, yes? I imagine Miranda would have sacrificed a lot for you; I don’t know everything that happened in Charles Town, but I know how it ended. Whatever provoked that tragedy, Miranda— and, stop me if I’m speaking out of turn, but I’d wager she was longing to let loose some wrath, from the moment she insisted you let her on that ship. The two of you had your secrets, I know, and yet… I wonder. What could you possibly have both been fighting for that would inspire such futile passion? What in your shared history could have cursed her with that fate?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Flint ran his tongue along his teeth. “You’re speaking out of turn.” But he relaxed, somewhat, as he registered that Silver meant no insult by his (admittedly intrusive) speculations. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And, raising his hands innocently, Silver was quick on the turnaround. “Alright, alright,” he said. “I’ll back off. But then, perhaps you can help me understand. Something loomed over that entire endeavor, something ominous, and powerful. Was it fated to be so? Is this the inevitable end of whoever casts their lot with you? I must confess, I can’t see what a person could possibly have to gain from that. Clearly, the road leads to misery, at least for— well.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And, what? You’re saying you’re worried? About yourself?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“On the contrary. In truth, I see no means by which you could hurt me. You certainly couldn’t rope me into dying for you. I’m clearheaded, you see — and perhaps the only person who’s gotten this close to you whose reason could remain sound. I’m not driven by a sentimental history, nor commanded by anger, and I know I cannot trust you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He certainly thought highly of himself. Flint bit back a laugh, covering it instead with another swallow of rum.</span>
</p><p class="p6">
  <span class="s1">Silver did not appear to notice. “Never underestimate the power of an impartial point of view,” he went on. “I see things as they are. I know when the picture is incomplete, whereas you cannot see beyond the scope of its frame. Between us, I alone have the ability to… to put a stop to things, before they get out of control.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And when you say ‘things,’ do you mean me? Or do you mean us? You’re walking a thin line, Mr. Quartermaster.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Silver laughed. “In this particular case, I am referring to us.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">☾</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Flint stepped quickly, one foot in front of the other, as he flicked his wrist to parry the broad strokes of Silver’s sword. The sharp clanging of metal on metal had faded to a dull drone, as the hours of sparring passed ceaselessly.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>A feint, then a thrust, and he had him. Silver swung his blade lightning-quick, but not quick enough, as the tip of Flint’s sword taunted from its position on Silver’s shoulder.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Fuck,” Silver squeezed his eyes shut tight, panting. Flint stifled his own labored breathing, as best he could, eyes on Silver.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“That was good.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Silver shook his head and laughed. “No need to patronize me,” he said, striving for levity. (Despite his best efforts, the words reverberated with bitterness.)</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“No, honestly. Much better than yesterday.” He raised his blade from Silver’s shoulder, sheathing it slowly. “Form’s improving. You’re getting caught up in your footwork, though. I can see you thinking. It slows you down.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“You want me to stop thinking?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“I want you to stop mapping out your next moves so far in advance. You’re laying groundwork, devising maneuvers for where your feet will take you next.” Flint sighed. “In a real fight, your opponent isn’t going to give a shit. He may not play your game, and since you won’t have time to outwit him, your body will have to do it for you.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Huh.” Silver twirled his sword in his hand, then planted it in the ground next to him.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“You’re overplanning. Fall into step. Let yourself </em>feel<em> your adversary.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Silver took a step towards him, his crutch rocking against the earth in a single smooth motion, a smile playing at his lips. “Alright, Captain.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>The thought crossed Flint’s mind that Silver quite possibly hated to lose. “Oh, so we’re done practice for the day? You’re deciding that?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Not for the day,” said Silver, low, his eyes on Flint’s mouth. “Just for a little while.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>An obvious lie, Flint knew. He leaned into Silver nonetheless, and their lips met easily. </em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>They had not talked about this at length, this </em>entanglement<em> they had fallen into. (Flint got the impression that Silver was not ready to, at least in any serious manner.) He ached comparing how they were with each other to how he and Thomas had been: honest and heartfelt, asking straightforward questions and insisting on straightforward answers. Silver talked incessantly, no one was disputing that, but it was that candor that was lacking.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Flint brought a hand to Silver’s face, cradling his cheek as he kissed him, fondly. It was strange, given their strained history. The most sense he could make of it was as intimacy, undeniable — such that for passion to follow had simply been a logical progression. Something deep within him needed Silver right now. After he had told him about Thomas, it was as though Flint could no longer keep any secrets from the man. They bubbled up, as though Silver, magician-like, drew them out, whenever he drew Flint into his arms.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">
    <em>At present, he found Silver affectionate and over-eager, which, Flint had learned, made him quite irresistible. He lowered Silver carefully until their bodies met cool grass. They had taken to doing so, with not a soul around to see. Silver craned his neck to reach Flint’s mouth, covetous.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Well?” Silver asked, playfully, between kisses. “How is my form now?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Flint snorted, refusing to admit that he was charmed. He kissed Silver again. He pressed him into the earth beneath them, holding him fast. </em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“I’m serious.” Silver took Flint’s lower lip in his teeth. Jesus, thought Flint.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Unpolished,” he said in return, unbuckling Silver's belt with deft fingers. He hiked Silver’s shirt up past his waist, and let his hands drift across his bare abdomen. An offering.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Is that so? Some seem to think I’m quite—” (a mischievous hand grabbed Flint’s ass as Silver’s lips brushed his own, infernally soft) “—skilled, in this area.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Madi must be a very patient woman, to put up with you.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Silver’s eyes shone bright in the afternoon sun. “Yes, she never ceases to amaze me.” Flint wanted to laugh; he wished he had a glass, if only so that Silver could have glimpsed the adoration in his own reflection.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Although,” Silver grinned, his touch wandering. “Madi isn’t teaching me how to swordfight.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“She’s probably handier with a blade than you were when we started. Although, a few more drills and perhaps you’ll stand a chance in a real fight. Hand-to-hand, at least.” Flint was learning what to say, how to needle quick-witted Silver into indiscretion.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Silver gasped, arching his back against the ground. (In the same instant, Flint had mouthed hot, eager breaths over his ear and slipped a hand beneath the front of Silver’s trousers. Naturally, he was learning how to torment him with more than words.) </em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Only a few more drills?” Silver’s futile attempts to keep an even tone made Flint smile, as he mercilessly drew his lips across Silver’s collarbone. “Don’t tell me you’re—ah—through with me yet.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Hmm,” Flint murmured into the hollow of his throat, a deeper timbre than he expected. “You want to keep going?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Yes—” Silver, between ragged breaths. “No, our lessons? Why not?” The feverish tremor in Silver’s voice said — forever?</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">☾</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, go on,” Flint leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The spirits settling in his stomach had begun their reliable work of warming him inside and out; numb to the tips of his fingers, lucid as he’d ever be. “You’ve been dancing around the question for a while now. Just ask it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Silver’s eyes narrowed, but Flint suspected he was delighted. “Alright. What are you hiding?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He took the bottle that sat at Flint’s feet, touched the rim to his lips. As though pausing for dramatic effect.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Flint was ready, though. “Are you sure you want the truth?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“After everything we’ve been through,” Silver said, “I figure you owe me that much. Yes, tell me— where did Flint come from? Not the myth of him, but the man. What truly caused him to manifest, in all his cutthroat splendor? Your demons are a part of our reality — such is the nature of the influence you wield — but the one in whose name this war is to be fought is still a stranger to me. I’m sure of it.” Silver re-corked the bottle without so much as a sip. “Will you tell me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For some reason, the first thought that crossed Flint’s mind was: <em>will this make you trust me</em>. The second was the unequivocal certainty that he would be unable to lie to Silver.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And so he told him. He began, as many stories begin, in London — “I was a lieutenant in the royal Admiralty, working for the Crown.” He recounted to Silver his assignment to Thomas’s enterprise, and all their plans and proposals, and the first time he met Miranda. He told him of their efforts to institute the universal pardon for the pirates of Nassau. The words flowed freely, as though his mouth were more engaged, more at ease, than his mind. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I opposed Thomas’s plan as being rash, radical, until I didn’t. Until I supported it completely. He had this way of looking at an issue and understanding what was making it so, as best he could. He had this uncontrollable tendency to question everything, to never accept anything as the best possible version of itself. It was infectious.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You see, in the months we had worked together, I had come to understand that Thomas was a visionary. Enlightened. He… endeavored to create a better world. He saw the good in all people, saw the potential for goodness everywhere. He was so <em>bright</em>, so…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(Flint had too many words to describe Thomas. Now that he had begun, he was surprised at how easy it was to continue, how hard it would be to stop.)</span>
</p><p class="p6">
  <span class="s1">He was digressing. He retrieved the bottle, and took a sip. Spellbound, Silver held his tongue.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Of course, we were fools. We were fools to believe that a future of cooperating and conceding under England’s oppressive thumb was any future at all. But that was what we believed, that a lawful solution was the right thing to do, and that it would be reform enough to bring true peace to a struggling community.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Even that was too much. Our proposition was assailed, by lords, members of Parliament, Thomas’s own father. Thomas and I, and Peter Ashe, and Miranda, we struggled for it. Labored over the future of that place. But the unrest in Nassau and the opposition at home proved too great, and the plan failed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Silver interjected: “That seems like a formidable group — facing strong adversaries, I know, but with two lords and a respected navy man in your camp, I’m surprised you were so universally opposed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Flint furrowed his brow. “Well, that is the half of it,” he said. “The other half is this—” (He rubbed his hands together, clasping them tight. He had the brief flicker of a thought, wracking his brain over whom Silver might tell; but it was a gut reaction, no longer of any consequence. There was nothing more they could take from him.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thomas and I, we were more than just business partners. We were, he was everything to me. Everything a woman usually is. All of it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Silver raised an eyebrow, and Flint looked him dead in the eye, a hard stare. “Then, you were…” Silver hesitated.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We were lovers.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eyes on Silver.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“His marriage to Miranda, my alleged affair with her, both were a cover for the truth, which was Thomas and I. Don’t say a word, just listen. The true reason our plans for Nassau failed is that we were given up, found out — by Alfred Hamilton, by my Admiral superior. By Lord Ashe. Madness is such a hard thing to define, which makes it such an easy label to affix to one’s enemies. Once it had been applied to Thomas, once our relationship had been exposed, defiled, scandalized… everything ended. I was summarily discharged from my post. Miranda and I, we fled that night. Found ourselves in Nassau not weeks later.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A thick silence settled, uncomfortably, between the two men, until Silver said, quietly, “And where is… Thomas… now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Flint felt a chill, despite how the rum had warmed him. He and Miranda had not spoken of this often over the course of ten years.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He died.” Full stop. “In the hospital — the prison — where they committed him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He did not look at Silver, then. He didn’t want to see the pity on his face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When I spoke to the queen here,” Flint began again, “when I speak of the noose that England keeps around our necks, know that we are fighting for so much more than the freedom of the seas. There is no getting back what England has taken, and not just from me. It is <em>light</em> that she and her governors and her admirals and fathers and lords have extinguished from the world. For me, it was Thomas, then Miranda. For deigning to seek happiness and pursue a life of integrity. And untold others have been taken from so many, many more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We do not — <em>I</em> do not — fight for vengeance; but for the fact that we are imprisoned within a system that does not want us, and that will never change itself. The way Thomas lived his life, he would never have accepted that. And so, I can do nothing but strive to change it for him. When they took him away… that was the day that on some level I knew. That England was broken. And that sooner or later a good man must resist it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Flint drank. He was so tired.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know what to say.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t need to say anything.” He glanced at Silver, finally. His expression was uncertain, but sympathetic. Probably the best Flint could have hoped for. “You asked me where I began, and I felt that you were entitled to an answer. To the truth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I appreciate that. And I am genuinely sorry.” Silver hesitated for a long, tense moment. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It doesn’t feel terrible to tell someone.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Silver studied him. “Yes, I’m sure,” he said, slowly. “What I meant, though, was — thank you for helping me understand. I had figured it was something personal, but I couldn’t have fathomed the extent of how deep it cut.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Flint nodded. No, he couldn't have.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your time with Thomas, what England did to the both of you, this is where Captain Flint was born. This is where he was… made. And he is so fervently committed to this fight because of how <em>inextricably</em> tied up it is in everything he believes in.” He paused. Then— “Do you have any idea how vulnerable this makes you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“In short, you’re fighting England for his sake. And for hers. Now, I know it is more complex than that, but really, is it? Miranda connected you to who you were before, and naturally, she connected you to Thomas. Your bonds with them were profound, and they were emotional. And both of these people were brutally taken away from you. Now, pardon my saying so, but I’ve seen what madness drives you to do. You cannot possibly tell me you would be able to maintain a level head, or take any tactical approaches to captaining a crew, much less waging a war, when it is their memories at stake.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t see how this affects my abilities as a captain,” Flint grumbled.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you hear yourself? It affects them immensely!” Silver almost raised his voice, for a moment, and then he laughed, incredulous. “Notwithstanding the fact that in some way, this fight has always been about defending who you are as a man. It does not get more personal than that — and with the personal, comes the irrational. I’m giving you advice. As a friend. I don’t know if it is even possible, but you ought to take some of yourself out of this fight.”</span>
</p><p class="p6">
  <span class="s1">Flint had been called crazy enough times to know how inconsequential others’ perceptions of rationality were, in the end. But, as Silver had just listened, unbothered, while his captain divulged his entire sordid life story, Flint decided to humor him. “Is that what you do?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think you would do well to take a lesson from me. You and Thomas, you and Miranda, together, you were like fire. And when your heart burns for them, you’re impassioned, but you are volatile. Now, the two of <em>us</em> together,” and he laughed again, almost to himself. “I think we’re more levelheaded. We keep a good distance to avoid those sorts of, sentimental hazards. That has always been one of my first priorities. I believe that’s the difference between you and I — and I hate to say it, but I am stronger for it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">☾</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Madi will be by shortly, I presume. I shouldn’t keep you.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>At last, they were in the governor’s mansion. Nassau, once again. Everyone in their company was exhausted, but it was the good kind, the hopeful, noble sort of exhaustion that made Flint feel in all his bones that they had done something momentous. There was much to do in the morning, but tonight, they would sleep. Flint had helped Silver to his chambers; of course, none of the men objected to him taking the governor’s suite. While Silver had scrubbed smudges of gunpowder from his hands and face and stretched his aching leg, Flint had lit an oil lamp for him. Now, in its low light, shadows danced in Silver’s eyes. “She... was alright?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Hm?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Madi. The past few days, without me.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Rubbing his temple, Flint considered how best to navigate Silver’s question — in all probability, he could not give him the response that he wanted. Flint was unaware if Silver had ever experienced loss of this most profound sort; if he could even begin to understand how Madi had suffered, the grief she had withstood in silence.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“She was strong.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>For a long time, Silver was silent. Then— “I’m lucky, aren’t I?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“You have no idea. That girl has been through hell, but, well. Sometimes people convince themselves that they can be unshakeable.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“I wish I hadn’t put her through all that.” Meditative, he glanced up at Flint. “You too. I mean to say,” he added quickly, “it cannot have been easy trying to keep a militia together when the man they have rallied behind has been taken out of the picture.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“We managed.” Amazing, how quickly he had come to see himself as strategically irreplaceable. Flint had often joked that he never understood what went on inside Silver’s head, but the truth was that he had always known well enough. The Silver of his memory was a clever, charismatic fool who, when their interests aligned, Flint could count on to be an invaluable ally. But this Silver…</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>As he turned to go, a hand reached out and caught his wrist, gripped it tightly. Flint looked back to find Silver watching him intently.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Stay?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Flint started to shake his head. “And why—” he said quietly, eyes narrowing as he searched Silver’s own— “would I stay?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“I could think of any number of reasons.” Silver knit his brow: a familiar gesture, as though to illustrate just how deep he was in thought. “We have just secured ourselves a decisive victory on a critical battleground. We are triumphant. We are exhausted. </em>I<em> have only recently returned after being thought dead for days, that surely has to count for something.” He laughed, letting up some of the tension on Flint’s wrist, his thumb running slow circles over the skin there. “I can go on.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Really.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“You want to. I want you to.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Exasperated, Flint closed his eyes. “You have no idea what I want.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>A roguish smile spread across Silver’s face. “Now, I don’t think that’s true,” he said, emboldened, drawing Flint closer.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>He was handsome like this, Flint could not deny it. Long curls sweeping messily across his broad shoulders. Dark eyes flickering in the lamplight.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>He had been handsome earlier as well; dismounting his horse in the the center of Nassau Town, revealing a brutal dignity unlike anything Flint had ever seen from him. Through blazes of gunfire, Flint had caught glimpses of Silver in the fray, cutting down British regulars, deadly calm in the chaos that unfolded around him. Flint was… curious, to say the least, to discover the lengths Silver would go, what he would be capable of; the enigmatic, open-ended intrigue of a man in the process of becoming. He had always played the men so well, and now — he had such command over them, it was enthralling. Flint was proud.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p6">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>And, for some reason, Flint did believe he had Silver’s loyalty — despite what logic or reason or even Silver himself had protested. It was a nonsensical trust. It evaded any attempt Flint made to understand it.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>(A small voice in his head reminded Flint that he should be wary. He ignored it. He had laughed when Silver himself had warned him as much. Flint had nothing to fear from Silver, nothing that he could not foresee, at the very least. Devotion was certainly not something he had anticipated earning when Silver had kissed him for the first time — half-crazed, more than half-starved — but from Silver, devotion was what he felt, now.)</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>But. He and Silver had already had a conversation. As their tactical assault on the harbor loomed, as Silver and Madi’s affinity for each other grew into a more serious partnership. That was what they had talked about, when they made the prudent decision to stop sleeping together. And yet the entire time, Flint was thinking about one particularly concerning conversation they had had, while they sparred. A conversation in which Flint had learned all he might ever learn about this man whom he had believed to have known intimately — which is to say, not much at all. For some reason, Silver was still playing his cards close to his chest. Flint did not hold it against him. All men have their reasons. In some measure, though, it had shaken Flint, returned him to his senses. He knew Silver would not understand why this meant so much to him. And, in spite of everything, he had never intended to leave Silver’s side. (Again, theirs was a nonsensical sort of trust.) The man had been wrenched away from Flint, pulled to the depths beneath their foundering ship, and then serendipitously returned to him, as though by some divine Providence. He had so narrowly escaped death. Did that change things?</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“I don’t have to tell you that this, whatever this is — continuing would not be a wise decision. It complicates things. You know this.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“Indulge me, </em>Captain<em>. I know. But let us make a very unwise decision.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>And he wanted— oh, he wanted to.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Silver nearly had Flint in his arms, now. Drawing him to the edge of the bed. Close enough that he could feel his breath.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Flint kissed him then — not gently — and it was as if a dam had broken. Silver kissed back, hard. One hand snaked around to cradle Flint’s head, the short hairs at the nape of his neck; while the other stroked his chest, his arms, his back. His ravenous touch was so familiar, and Flint let it crash over him, falling fast as Silver gasped against him.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“Get me—ah—</em>out<em> of these clothes,” Silver said, shifting breathlessly; the man had never had any patience in bed. Flint bit back a comment saying as much, and made quick work of Silver’s shirt. He ran his hands over the smooth expanse of his chest, reveling in the sight. Silver grinned, the smug bastard. It had been mere weeks since they had last been intimate, but Jesus, it felt like longer.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Flint pushed him down into the mattress, caging Silver’s body with his own, breath catching as Silver arched up against him immediately. “Fuck—” his own voice, a hoarse tremor, caught him off guard. Silver was making wicked use of his good leg, his knee pressing, teasing Flint into rocking hard against it.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“You’re—”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>That devilish glint in his eye. “Go on.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“You’re insufferable.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“And yet you seem to be—ngh—” (Flint drove against him, lips skimming Silver’s throat to bite down, softly) “—</em>quite<em> enjoying yourself.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>He was right, Flint would give him that. Smiling, winded, Silver took his face in both hands and dragged him down into an open-mouthed kiss. His tongue, hot against Flint’s own, his restless hands guiding their bodies together — Flint was overcome with an uncanny sensation, as though he were a stranger watching himself.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“My God,” Silver breathed, smoldering. “I have missed—this.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Flint clutched at him, awareness dawning like the setting in of vertigo; as Silver’s words allowed him to realize just how profoundly he had missed this as well.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"><em>Memories flooded back to Flint. Except that they were</em></span> <span class="s1"><em>— he closed his eyes tight, and saw Miranda felled by a single shot; he was blinded, enraged at his own helplessness. He was laying waste to Charles Town, watching from the bow as the shoreline went up in smoke. He kissed Silver and felt despair, languishing on death’s door in still, ocean waters. He was starving. He was sinking, with Silver’s hands cupping his face; he was falling into wild eyes whose depths he did not fear, but did not know.</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Silver had been there through all of it. A step behind him, or ahead of him, whichever it were. At his side, nonetheless. Flint had shared so much grief with him, and knowing that Silver still would not trust him with his own, Flint felt a hollowness, heavy in his chest. Even as he told himself that the affection between them had been true, that </em>absence <em>crept in like a corruption. Despite himself, he puzzled— Why had he sought comfort with Silver in the first place? And to what end? It was disorienting, and now more than ever, he was determined to remain grounded.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Because. When Flint closed his eyes and let himself be swept away, Silver held him and it was Thomas holding him, whispering his name — and it was James, not Flint — and he was peppering his skin with kisses and setting him alight and knowing him, truly knowing him.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Wait.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Silver was panting against him. “I know,” he said, playfully kissing the corner of Flint’s mouth. “I—”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Wait,” he said again, and, painfully slowly, Silver pulled away, as recognition unmistakably dawned on him. Flint let himself fall onto his back, beside Silver on the bed, and rubbed his face with his palm.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Silver propped himself up on one elbow to face him. “I’m sorry, is there a problem?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“No,” Flint sighed, mostly to himself. “But nothing has changed.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Silver was too dear to him for this. They could not be casual lovers. Flint was painfully aware they could not — nor did he want them to be, and he did not believe Silver did either — but for some reason, Silver was incapable of offering anything more to Flint.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Until Silver could truly trust Flint with himself, authentically, Flint worried that together, the two of them would always be engaging in some form of escape. And he did not want that. This was not a fantasy for him.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Silver sat upright, measured. (His hair was a tangled mess, the color in his cheeks was high, flustered.) He frowned. “I suppose I don’t understand.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Taking a deep breath, Flint met Silver’s gaze. “I told you this wasn’t going to happen again.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“And why was that again?” said Silver. “It all seems so irrelevant, now.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Flint averted his eyes to the ceiling. He couldn’t try to make Silver understand what had changed. He did not say, there is a fundamental difference between how you and I approach intimacy. He did not add, your way threatens to return me to a state I had thought would be the death of me. (How long had he waited for grief to overtake him, in that wasteland of impending darkness? He had clung to Silver’s outstretched hand, a lifeline, and it did keep him from drowning. But he had always known it would never heal him.)</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Flint did not say, I made myself transparent to you, and I fear you will never do the same. And I am so overwhelmingly afraid that we could never be happy.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>What he did say: “Madi and I waited. For two hours, watching our men haul survivors out of the longboats, holding onto that faintest hope that you would be among them. I told her then, that it was irresponsible of me, that I should be so preoccupied with the fate of one man, who was likely already lost.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Silver swallowed, but said nothing.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Do you not agree that all of my attentions should be focused on the road to our victory? Do I not owe that to everyone who has given their lives for the cause?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Sorry, just to make sure I’m understanding, you don’t want to fuck me because you’re… waging a war now? You’ve always waged war. Ever since I’ve known you.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p6">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Flint recognized heartache in Silver’s eyes, his ill humor a shoddy disguise. He knew it was unfair, and that his friend would hurt because of it, but he would understand eventually. Flint had faith enough to know that much.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“This is different. Bigger. I can’t afford to be... distracted. By anything.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Silver gazed at him, almost longingly. Then, as though a switch had flipped — “All right, suit yourself.” Flint watched as he fumbled for his discarded shirt, slipping it back over his head. Heaving a — dramatic — sigh, he reclined beside Flint, joining him in studying the roof over their heads. From the corner of his eye, Flint saw him shake his head as he laughed softly to himself.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Funny, is it?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“I suppose I never thought you would be quite such a tease, Captain.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Flint smiled, despite himself. “You have my humblest apologies.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">☾</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What I’m saying,” announced Silver, now, in the warm glow of the lantern. “Is that you have reason to be afraid of me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Flint laughed, deep in his chest. Oh, once he started, it was very hard to stop.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Silver smiled and shook his head, mouth slightly agape. “Laugh all you want, this could be life or death for you.” (He couldn’t help himself. Peals of laughter, easy and wild, overtook him.) “I’m serious! I could pose a great danger to you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The hint of indignation in his tone brought Flint back to himself. If he could tell Silver, though, how truly calm he felt in that moment; despite whatever narrative of temperamental fragility the man wanted to ascribe to him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Here I am,” Silver said, “armed with endless intelligence on your weaknesses, knowing what makes you tick and having the wherewithal to know I have only myself to rely on here. I won’t make the mistakes others have made in the past, because I’ve seen the results. And right now, I’m probably the closest person to you in the world.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I should find that depressing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>But</em>—” Silver continued, clearly annoyed. “I’m not <em>too</em> close. You see the difference? And I’m not going to hide in your shadow. I’m not going to cover for you when we disagree. I'm not going to lose myself in you. Because if I can’t secure your loyalty with friendship, I won’t grieve if that friendship ends.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(And Flint thought: alright, Silver.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He went on. “If I wanted to try and control your actions, I certainly would not be doing it through some tried-and-failed method of Billy’s invention. Because I know you better than he ever will. I know this war is coming, and I know things between us are… changing. Evolving. It’s hard to find the words to describe it. But maintaining <em>distance</em>, between you and I, is actually what might save us in the end. Or, at least. What might save me. You might be a lost cause.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Flint grinned at him. “You’re acting as though I have no choice in this matter. Tell me, when did this decision — to control me, to become dear to me or not — become yours and yours alone?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Silver’s eyes twinkled. He took a real drink from the bottle, this time. Flint watched his throat bob as he swallowed. “I told you once to account for me, and I worry that even now, you underestimate me, to the point where you might not realize until it’s too late. When I’ve already become the end of you. This is simply a… polite warning. Between friends.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And as Flint said, “I wouldn’t worry too much,” a shadow flit across Silver’s face, for a brief moment. Strange. Flint watched, and despite everything, he saw a glimpse of what Silver meant. In that half-light, something about him did look changed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">☾</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i love these two but i’ve never been happy with the way this scene plays out in the show, so i wanted to do my own take on it</p><p>i incorporated a couple of lines of dialogue from the show into flint and silver’s conversation, mostly when they’re talking about thomas. (i can’t take credit for “madness is such a hard thing to define......”)</p><p>title from “four walls” by charlotte martin</p></blockquote></div></div>
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